I'm a sick, demented, FREAK....
by Dreya -lady drea
Summary: How can i grace this fic with a suitable summery?? A look into Johnny's homelife and the relationship between him and his.....plank. **SLASH** I will make thoughtful faces at flames because it's your own opinion.


Yes, ladies and gentlemen, thats really the title.   
This is my FIRST EVER EENE FIC!! Slash or otherwise!!!  
  
  
*kazoos sound in background*  
  
This IS Johnny/Plank, so im warning you now in case  
this is a personal squicky for anyone...  
  
oh jeez, what am i saying.....WHAT list am i posting  
this on now?   
  
nevermind, i didnt say anything. ^_^;;  
  
Just read the story:  
________________________  
  
Title: I am a sick demented freak for writing this.  
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes. seriously.  
Pairing: Johnny/Plank  
date finished: jan/08/02  
archived: eene slash list, anywhere else please email  
me.  
warnings: character death. sorry guys...  
A/N: thanks to speccy(kitty) for the beta. ^_^  
  
*  
  
Open-toed leather sandals slapped against the pavement  
of the cul-de-sac, and the boy who wore them ran with  
them, his breath coming in sharp, harsh gasps. His  
arms and wrists were stained wetly with red, and the  
tingling sensation that pervaded them turned to an  
acute stinging as he ducked behind a tree to assess  
the damage.   
  
His friend had come with him, in his frenzied exodus  
from the bathroom of his house.   
  
'You'll get the firing squad, boy,' whispered his  
companion.   
  
"Be quiet!" he hissed back sharply. "Do you think  
anyone saw us?" Turning, the boy tried to shroud  
himself behind the skinny trunk of his hiding place.   
  
'They'll get you, Johnny-boy. They'll get you.'   
  
He felt tears sting at his eyes and gather between his  
lashes. The words were true, horribly true, and Johnny  
knew it. The blood on his fingers was still wet, and  
it rubbed off on the stout plank of wood he clutched.   
  
"Now, don't you be like that, grumpy..," the boy  
warned. Not that he could ever hurt his friend....   
  
'Now, now, don't kid yourself, John-John," his friend  
said. 'Your mother told you to never hurt anyone, or  
anything. She said--"   
  
"STOP IT NOW!" Johnny snapped, but then recoiled,  
instantly berating himself. Don't yell at your  
friend, don't ever yell, don't ever get mad, he  
chanted inside his mind. Get mad and he'll leave. Get  
mad and....he'll leave... His arms stung, right down  
to the palms of his hands, and a weak feeling bloomed  
in the bottom of his stomach.   
  
Three year old crayon eyes and a chipped, painted  
mouth stared up at Johnny silently. Smiling. Always  
smiling. His friend was never sad, always happy. His  
anger dissipated when faced with his friend's  
optimism. Childhood friends, they had never been  
apart; when the other kids taunted him, left him out  
of their games, ignored him, his friend would be there  
to comfort him and keep him company.   
  
Guilt tugged at his heart. Was he wrong in making his  
friend come with him, in making him witness what  
Johnny logically thought would happen soon?   
  
"Awww... I'm sorry, buddy..." The weakness in the pit  
of his stomach had spread to his chest and shoulders,  
and he clutched his friend close to his chest, curled  
up on the ground now.   
  
"Talk to me, Plank," the young boy said softly. "Tell  
me a story, like you do when I have a nightmare..."   
  
But his friend was silent. Johnny pleaded, becoming  
panicked as the silence around him grew; the world  
around him was staying too still. He needed to hear  
his friend's voice right now, silence was why he'd  
done this in the first place.....   
  
If he lived, he knew he'd be in trouble. They would  
find out what he'd done to himself. Plank was right,  
his mother had always told him that jail was for  
people who hurt others or themselves, and Johnny had  
hurt himself. He would be put in the shady, damp cell  
his mother so often described, with men who would hurt  
*him*....Over....and over.....and over.....   
  
Such silence. There wasn't a word to describe the  
disturbing absence of any sound, like the still before  
a horrible storm. It reminded him of the Closet. The  
closet was so still and black inside, and his mother  
had taken his friend away that day, and stuck him  
there, alone, for the whole afternoon. Shuddering,  
Johnny pushed the memory away, and refocused on Plank.  
  
  
"Please, Plank.....buddy....." His voice cracked as  
desperation and terror set in, and he realized with  
cold certainty the finality of his actions.   
  
Breath coming shallow and swift, he used his last  
weapon to get his friend to comfort him; he pressed  
his lips to the slightly curved mouth on the piece of  
wood, begging it to talk to him.   
  
Finally, sharply and quietly, he heard, 'Go to sleep,  
boy.'   
  
As black fog sneaked up from behind him, and his  
vision started getting hazy, he used his last   
remaining strength to plant soft kisses all over his  
friend's face, and mouth, and unblinking eyes. The  
eyes that saw everything his mother did, now had to  
see this.....poor Plank.....Johnny only hoped Plank  
would forgive him for abandoning him...and would keep  
his secret.   
  
Lidless, crayon-drawn eyes watched the dimming human  
pair in front of them close. Plank kept close vigil on  
the sky above for the rest of the night; it had been  
dropped, face up, onto the ground from cold, dead  
hands.   
  
____________________  
  
so.....*kicks sand and coughs nervously*  
  
that's it....whatcha think? Please send a review?? 


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